Hermione Jane Eyre
by WolfsCub
Summary: After Harry's victory in the Final Battle, a curse sends Hermione back in time, into the body of Jane Eyre.
1. Chapter 1

I know, another crossover, with our main character being thrown into someone else's younger body! But I couldn't help myself, after watching the 1973 movie. Michael Jayston has definitely inspired me! The 2006 and the 1980's versions seem quite good as well, but. There is just something about the 1973 Mr. Rochester that I love. And so,

Cursed in the Final Battle, after Harry's victory, a curse sends Hermione back in time, into the body of Jane Eyre.

**Chapter 1**

I didn't anticipate this; as I looked, relieved, at the sight of Voldemort turning into floating ashes, I failed to see a vicious looking curse approaching me and hitting my Time Turner, concealed under my robes. I didn't expect to wake up as a 19th century orphan school teacher, without said device nor wand, either. If, even in 70s, so many looked down on Muggleborn wizards, I shudder to think what they will think of me now. I could fabricate another identity, but the less lies, the better. Half-truths can be better handled, or so I thought, at the time, and, considering Albus Dumbledore had not yet been born, I hesitated returning to a world that was at the moment, most likely, even less understanding towards someone of my birth and gender than the Muggle.

I look at my sight, in the looking glass. I had balked at the revelation of being someone else, in another time, not destitute, but neither in a position where I could make much of myself. I wondered, long and hard, about returning to the wizarding world, but I then realized it was not a good idea. Despite being able to cast wandlessly, I found, in this body, it was more difficult, although increasingly less so, so I needed to save enough money to buy a new wand, which meant I would have to be even more frugal than I already was, or seek a better station elsewhere. So, I didn't intend to turn my back on magic, oh no! I simply decided, then and there, to delay my contact with the magical world.

Miss Temple, Jane Eyre's, no, my former teacher and colleague was leaving soon, to be married, which gave me the perfect excuse to leave. I thought, Hermione, in such a time, what do women do? You have already reviewed all you could, so you can teach children in this time period with your eyes closed (especially considering pupils here are very or relatively eager to learn – unless too spoiled), you speak several languages, but considering you're a woman of no family, what can you do? Manual work is as dignified as any other, but you're a school teacher. Perhaps you can find a better paying job as such or work as a private tutor or governess. In the meantime, and considering I had read so many literature of the time, I thought I might start a book… naturally under a male name.

I then decided to advertise. Eventually, a lady, Mrs. Fairfax, hired me as a governess. I would be, financially, in a much better position, with room and board. Well, perhaps they would have a library, though completely Muggle in its content, and grounds wide enough so, once possessing my first wages, one can quietly apparate away to Diagon Alley.

And so, the day came when I arrived in Thornfield; I didn't care very much for the long carriage rides, despite using several wandless cushioning charms; I thanked Merlin Moody had trained me so well. I was taken to a snug small room, with a round table and a lit fire, a high-backed arm-chair with an elderly lady on it; Mrs. Alice Fairfax, looking like a grandmother from a fairy tale. The black cat at her feet meowed at me, and the lady stopped her knitting. I was hit by a memory of knitting horrible hats for the Hogwarts house elves; S.P.E.W. was so long ago already! After introductions and removing my shawl and bonnet, I was invited to warm myself by the fire, and I complied, despite, once again, not being cold thanks to my wandless magic. I wondered when I would be able to cast, once again, offensive spells without a wand, but I didn't worry too much about it; sooner or later I would get there.

I was treated quite well, like a visitor, something I didn't expect considering I was to be a simple governess. I discovered my pupil was to be Adele Varens, a little French girl, and that Thornfield Hall is a bit of a lonely place for Mr. Fairfax, has one cannot become too familial with the hired help, Leah, Adele's nurse Sophie, John and his wife. As it was almost midnight, I was sent to rest, the lady was kind enough to show me my small apartment, which I liked. Though it couldn't be compared to Hogwarts, it was a great change from sharing a room with someone who snored or living on a tent as I had, with Ron and Harry, during months on a Horcrux hunt.

I slept well, and in the morning I gaze at my room; practically and simply furnished, papered walls and a carpeted floor. I rose from the bed and got ready for the day. Hermione Granger had an unruly hair, but I thank the gods above that Jane Eyre did not. I dressed neatly and plainly. I looked at myself; I knew, in this era, I was no beauty, but I knew that was more because of my station than because of my looks. I had been described in Lowood as plain, but I did not see that, when I looked in the mirror. I believed in myself, I no longer lacked the courage to recognize my strengths and my worth. War changed me, and I think, for the better.

Curiously, I wondered why the dreaded scar in my arm, made by Lestrange, but not Dolohov's, had resisted the travel through time. Mysteries!

Finishing my toilette, I descended the steps of oak, after crossing the intimidating gallery with portraits, stately looking, but again, it did not impress me, not after Hogwarts. I crossed the open hall-door and advanced on the grass, turning to appraise the grey mansion's front, with three storeys and battlements, and great old thorn trees around, and a church somewhat nearby.

In the meantime, Mrs. Fairfax showed up and we exchanged pleasantries, I realized then she was not the owner, but was related by blood to him, a Mr. Rochester, who commissioned her to find a governess to his seven or eight year old ward, who then joined us.

After our meal, she demonstrated her gifts in singing and repeating poetry. We went to the library, which was to be used as the schoolroom. I perused the books, a much better selection than the one I had at Lowood, and a new looking piano, whose top and keys I caressed. I idly wondered if I would have the chance to play it.

Adele and I started the lessons, and noon soon came; I sent her to Sophie. After that, I rose and found Mrs. Fairfax, dusting vases in the dining room nearby, located next to a very pretty drawing room, which she showed me. She kept the rooms in order, quite a task considering their dimension, for Mr. Rochester often appeared suddenly and without previous warning. I didn't learn much more of my employer then. She then gave me a tour of the house. There was, in the third story of the house, a deposit of older furniture, since fashions changed, even then. I loved it, and wandered if Thornfield had a ghost, to which Mrs. Fairfax said no.

After that, we climbed a staircase to the attics, and then a ladder and through a trapdoor. I saw the crow colony and leaned over the battlements. I loved the surroundings, and closing my eyes, I imagined the Hogwarts of my days. I vowed I would come here more often, to gaze at the view, or be alone in what I had dubbed the deposit room. I had noticed a closet there; I thought to enter it and apparate away, preferably in the middle of the night, if necessary. I could disillusion myself and quietly reach it, if necessary.

We returned, I went ahead and, passing by a room, heard a queer tragic laugh, which chilled me to the bone. Mrs. Fairfax attributed it to a servant who sewed often with Leah, and called her. Grace Poole appeared, and was admonished to make less noise.

In the meantime, it was already dinner time. As we ate with Adele, my sixth sense told me, though, that something was amiss, but what? I vowed I would find out, I'd keep an ear wide open for odd laughs. It wouldn't take so long to receive my first salary, and with the little I still had, I would be able to purchase a wand. How I missed a wand!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I often took walks on the fields on Thornfield, reveling in the quiet whisperings of the stream, sometimes simply looking at it, reading or writing my story. I had forwarded a few chapters to a couple of newspapers and sort of magazines and one, London's Herald, had accepted it; it had become rather popular. It helped me earn a bit more money, so after a few months I was ready to go to Diagon Alley. I sometimes reeled; it was almost Christmas, where had the time gone? But, I thought to myself, it wouldn't do to go there now, too many shoppers and it wouldn't do to attract attention. Despite being simple looking, the wizarding world had always been somewhat of a tight knit community; everybody knew everybody, so to speak. The less I was seen, for now, the better. I also feared to do something that might interfere and mess up the timeline, so I decided to delay my little escapade.

I found Grace Poole curious; and I couldn't, for the life of me, to conciliate her with such a laugh. The subject bore more investigating, but I refrained my curiosity. You might think such was unhealthy and hardly my business, but the times I had not followed Moody's motto of _Constant Vigilance!_ were ones I regretted, so I was loathe to forget such an oddity. If I found it was just a silly little characteristic of Grace Poole, I would forget it, but until I was certain, I would not.

It was just as well, because January came and Mrs. Fairfax asked for a holiday, on behalf of Adele having a cold. I took pity on her, and I couldn't deny that a break would do her well… and me. But, after a morning in the library, having written and copied a new chapter, which I addressed to the Herald, and played the piano for a couple of hours, I decided a walk was in order. I went to my room, collected my money, put on my cloak and bonnet and took another letter from Mrs. Fairfax, to deliver in Hay, two miles away.

In the middle of the way, I noticed a big dog and a black stallion on the path, its rider atop and, not long after we crossed, I heard a crash and a manly exclamation:

''What the deuce is to do now?"

The rider and the horse had fallen, and the dog barked, approaching me for help, which I did. I asked the man about his injuries and assisted him; apparently he had only a sprain. He managed to get on his horse with some assistance, but not without answering some questions; who was I and where did I come from. Once atop, he thanked me and, before he spurred his mount, apparently ordered me to make haste with my letter and come back as fast as I could.

The nerve of the man!, I thought. Well, he is a 19th century man, I sighed. But I was puzzled. If he did not know me… I remembered his strange look and comment when I told him I was a governess on Thornfield Hall. I vaguely thought he had nice, strong, if stern, features, but I most likely would never see him again. I made haste to Hay and, slipping away, hid among some bushes after making sure no one was around and casting a notice-me-not charm, I focused myself… and apparated.

I blinked twice, adjusting my eyes to the darkness of the apparition point nearby the Leaky Cauldron which, once I settled my sight to its door and entered it, relieved me immensely. I nodded at the bartender and asked for a private word; then I explained I had a misfortune with my wand and required him to open the wall entry to the Alley for me, which he did.

I paused nearby Ollivander's. I nodded to myself; no, I'd go to Knockturn Alley and ask for a custom wand. I squared my shoulders, scowled as fiercely as I could and, minutes later, there I was. The place, famous for its wands, already existed, even now. Although a bit pricey, the selection of each component, wood, core and a small gem at its base, insuring good compatibility with the user, made me giddy. Since I could not stay long, and it would only be ready within an hour, I was to return a second time for the wand, apparating directly to a specific point in the store.

I went to the pet shop and, acquired a magnificent raven, in lieu of an owl.

"Not very common, Miss, but he will do you good.", I paid and left the premises.

"Now, what shall I call you, boy? Well, Hades sounds like a good name, don't you think? Do you like it?" he crowed and I took it as a yes. "Well, then, I brought you because every witch needs an owl, but I thought you'd suit me best. You see, I live in Thornfield Hall, near Millcote and Hay. It's quite a travel, but I hope you'll meet me there." He nodded. "None of them are magical, so when you get there, pretend to be wounded. I shall take you in. You will most likely reside with the other crows of the colony. Alright?" again, he nodded. "See you soon."

He took off and, again, I apparated directly to the closet of the third floor. I cast another notice-me-not and soundlessly left the closet, carefully listening to the sounds around me. As I passed Grace Poole's room, I heard that laugh again. I trembled and turned around, going to the battlements; I could see the garden from here, no one was there, so I apparated again. From there, I went to enter the house as if nothing had happened, and the sight of the big black and white long-haired dog I had just seen today stopped me in my tracks; it belonged to the stranger I had helped.

Pilot, Mr. Rochester's dog, Leah told me. So the stranger was Rochester, I mused. No wonder he ordered me around, I smirked to myself, as I went up. I bolted my door and I estimated the time had come to retrieve my wand. Just like that, thankful for the scheduled lifting of the wards, I apparated directly there, and took it. It was an even better fit than my own wand, I giggled! I paid for it and a wand holster, and took off, once again. No sooner had I apparated again, Leah knocked on my door, I quickly took off my bonnet and cloak, and concealed my wand in my dress folds; only then did I open the door. She smiled at me.

"Pardon, Miss, but Mrs. Fairfax and Miss Adele are otherwise engaged, in the dining room with the Master. He will need the library…" she continued.

I nodded at her and, hiding my wand in its slim, discreet arm holster, descended setting off to pick some needed materials for the next days lessons. From that evening on, I tried to ignore the presence of the house's Master, but that proved impossible; Adele was too agitated and wouldn't settle, obsessed with the arrival of a present of Mr. Edward Rochester. I inwardly rolled my eyes. I, too, was unsettled, but only because I wanted to experiment with my wand. I had the opportunity to go outside and discreetly bring some flowers, a few leaves and little twigs to my room, to transfigure, as well as a few pebbles. I never failed a spell, but it wouldn't do to start big and fail, ruining furniture that was not my own…

Mrs. Fairfax surprised me; me and Adele were to change and descend for tea at six o'clock with the master. I balked at the prospect; I wanted to try my wand, for Merlin's sake! Now I had to change just for tea and entertain a 19th century man with whom I probably had nothing in common? _Aha_, said a little nasty voice, _but you don't have anything in common with the other people in this house or anyone of this timeline either._ I clamped it down and put, as we say in the future, my big girl panties on.

Soon enough I was in the drawing room, being ordered to be seated in front on the master, by the fire, dodging direct eye contact with him. At intervals, I would gaze at his broad chest and fine athletic figure; he somewhat resembled a Vulcan God of old. Perhaps not of the fashionable type of beauty of this time, like me, most would say he was not handsome, perhaps even almost hideous, but I found him very handsome indeed. It was a very masculine, manly-man sort of beauty.

He had, however, a brusque manner; when Mr. Fairfax told him a variety of pleasant things, concerned with his welfare, all he replied was he'd like some tea. Adele and I rose to the tea table, when it arrived, and I took the Master's cup. When he took the cup by my hand, Adele requested a present for my person. I took a deep breath, already anticipating Mr. Rochester's somewhat rude reply. At his question, I told him that no, I didn't expect it, since we had no familiarity.

"Are you fond of presents, Miss Eyre?" I looked him in the eye.

"Generally, yes, sir." Nevermind you cast every detection spell for dark magic under the sun, when you get one. Habit. Pity when it's positive and you get to destroy said _cadeaux_.

I get the idea Mr. Rochester is measuring my worth though, and not just as a conversationalist. I thank him for his praise of Adele's progress; it is, indeed, the best gift I could receive. _And no casting detection spells either._

The interrogation proceeded; I admitted to an accident and remember little of my childhood, I felt guilt lying to this man, like to any other person. I answered his questions as much as I was able. I inwardly gulped whenever he would accused me of ridiculous things, perhaps to gauge me, such as me felling his horse and being responsible for his sprain. I imagined myself, teasingly patting my own head; in case of extreme danger of being burnt at the stake you can always apparate away. He had a gleam in his eyes, when he said such things, and I raised my eyebrow; the scoundrel was teasing me!

He asked me if I could play the piano; and I told him that, yes, what I did at the black and ivory keys could be considered playing more than a little.

I was then ordered to go to the library's piano and play a tune. And you must know I was always an over-achiever. I played more than a tune, I mingled part of a piano concerto of Rachmaninov for starters, then, since all was quiet, more simple pieces, like Yann's Comptine d'une autre été, and Remembrances, from the Schindler's List movie. It was not as beautiful as usual, lacking the violin accompaniment. When I reached its final note, I heard a call, so I returned. He stared at me a little and then I was ordered to bring him my portfolio of drawings and sketches. He admired a few, made some constructive criticism. I could not remember when I had done then, of course. Though I could sketch and draw, I was not as proeficient as before, I admitted.

Soon came the time for bed. I learned his father and brother were deceased and, once I closed the door behind me, I bolted it. I extinguished the candle and lighted again, with magic, levitated it, and then continuously casted more complicated spells. I continued for an hour or so, then undressed and redressed magically into my sleeping wear, transfiguring it into something warmer and more comfortable. How I had missed using pants to sleep in! How I had missed my magic!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Hades returned to me soon enough, and Mr. Rochester recovered, of course. He often visited his equals in the neighborhoods, staying till very late at night. I sometimes met him in the halls, not always being acknowledged by him; I noticed he had much to think about, and perhaps for that, he was, how should I put it, often moody, or buried by such thoughts. I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, easier now to me since I was teaching Adele in an apartment upstairs, and often retired to my room as soon as I could without being suspicious. I left the property as often as I could to visit Diagon Alley; I would use a transfigured veil to hide my features, and use, as an alias, the name of Cytherea Elliot. Hades would bring me books I bought, previous reduced in size, as requested, and I would put them away like that, inside a book box, similar to a thick diary with a chain all around it; only I could open it. I would hide it on the top back of my wardrobe; I was now trying to enchant a small reticule with all sorts of spells, but this was difficult. I had never had to hide, with so much care, who I was, my magic and everything related to it, in my entire life. It only made me long for Hogwarts and my home, in the future.

I also lacked the necessary funds to make proper research; that ticked me more than anything. Curiously, there was a wizarding lottery even then, so I bought it occasionally, hoping to gain something by it, but not too much. Maybe Lady Luck would smile on me, eventually.

In time, I was able to cast wandless offensive magic, once again. I found fields away from Thornfield, very much deserted, and would practice after warding the area. In my runs, I came by a lone cabin once, long abandoned, its rooftop completely caved in; the place was devoid of people or villages nearby, and I vowed I would repair it with the aid of magic. I got a few more respectable books on the subject and set to study it at night or during a few hours during the day. I was happy; I was making progress. I had taken several pieces of wood and was practicing, making a small house with it in my small apartment. I had borrowed some utensils previously, since it wouldn't do to alert the Muggles that I wasn't using anything to build it. it was a quaint little cabin now, the rooftop already complete. Adele admired it, and I told her she could paint it and keep it as a sort of a doll house, once I finished with it.

And the Lord of the mansion? Well, one evening, after dinner, in a wet night, he sent for Adele and myself; her present had arrived, at last, and Mrs. Fairfax was to entertain her, while I entertained my master. It sounds odd, doesn't it? A witch having a muggle as a master; I'm sure Bellatrix Lestrange would be rolling in her grave if I, yes, me, hadn't blown her to pieces! The Mudblood, whom she grimly tattooed as such, bested her after all. Isn't life ironic?

I wanted to stay away from Mr. Rochester's penetrating eyes, but to no avail; he told me to place the chair closer, which I did. I couldn't help myself, and stared at him while he looked at the fire, wondering why he called himself an old bachelor, being perhaps thirty eight years of age. Then I thought to myself; indeed, it is somewhat old, for a single muggle. I would live and retain my looks for longer than he, and there would be a time, should I find myself unable to return to the future, when I would no longer be able to hide as I did now. I didn't care very much to glamour myself to look older than I actually did. Perhaps it was vain of me, but I knew I could only hide to a certain point.

He then looked at me and asked me if I found him handsome. I told him the truth; that no, he didn't fit the today's ideal of beauty. I mentally added, but I find you handsome.

We went on conversing and, if this was not the 19th century, I would say the lord of the house was flirting, despite on a somewhat intellectual level, with his governess. Claiming the only superiority he had over me was that of age and experience, I smiled, and thought to myself that he truly, poor man, had no idea who he was dealing with.

I tried to figure him out, I felt he trying to get me to vouch for something I couldn't understand. And, as if wasn't enough, he was as enigmatic and persuasive as a Slytherin, and stubborn as a Gryffindor. I try to escape as soon as I am able, invoking Adele's bedtime, it was already nine o'clock, but he kept me. Adele rejoined us, dressed in her _cadeaux_, and Mr. Rochester confessed her mother had been a French woman, Celine Varens, apparently more in love with his money than the man itself. But how did Adele come to be here? She had either died or abandoned the child. I deducted she was a dancer, singer or artist of some sort, I mused, approaching my miniature cabin, which I decided to expand into a bigger, true doll house. I would not be surprised if Mr. Rochester would tell me, in a few days, as he did, that he spoiled Celine, an opera dancer, and abandoned her on the grounds of discovering being played as a fool.

I would never forget his almost visionary warnings, that I would love and suffer with jealously, and suffer through harsh ordeals which would unfurl into quieter times. He appreciated Thornfield, but there was also something he abhorred, but he vowed to _break obstacles to happiness._ The conversation went on, but it was that vow and the way in which he looked at the Hall and his battlements that made me pause. I couldn't care less if Adele was the daughter of an opera dancer, nor that she wasn't half a Rochester; I would continue to teach her in the same manner.

Time passed, and Mr. Rochester occupied a significant portion of my time, we often talked after dinner or, moody as he was, I would read to him in the evenings. I often wondered at this relationship we had developed; and I could see he didn't just tolerate me, and seemed to be somewhat fond of me – at times fascinated with some of my achievements, perhaps because I was able to put up with him, proud, sardonic, moody, and severe as he was? Well, he was a piece of cake, compared to Severus Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange, that is for certain!

I remember the day Hades came back to me. I was taking a stroll in the garden and Adele sighted my raven on the floor.

"Such a great crow, Mademoiselle Janette! He seems to not fly!", she said, excited.

"Wait Adele," I stopped her, afraid she would hurt him, so I took him very carefully, very cautiously, after whispering some comforting nonsense to Hades. "It is much too big for a crow, and the tail, you see, Adele?" she nodded. "It's a raven, their diet is different from a crow's as well. He seems to have a problem in his left wing, but it is probably a sprain, as it isn't broken." I rose, the raven perched, gradually, from my arm to my shoulder and cawed. I smiled at him. "Good boy."

"Miss Eyre, you are truly a fairy of some sort."

"Mr. Rochester!", I exclaimed. "I hadn't seen you, sir." He grunted.

"Do you intend to keep that animal?", Hades cawed indignantly, and I was surprised to hear a little voice in the frays of my mind; _'the nerve! Me? An animal?! You're one to talk."_

"Hades."

"What was that, Miss Eyre?", inquired Mr. Rochester.

"I like him, I shall 'keep' him, Mr. Rochester, but not inside of the Hall, of course."

'_It's deucedly cold outside, Mistress, but the colony has somewhat warm nests, I shall see you in the battlements once I'm _better_.'_

"Miss Eyre!" Mr. Rochester was looking at me, "you seem distracted."

"Yes. He should stay with the horses while he recovers. I shall call him Hades." I vaguely hear Mr. Rochester grumbling, fixing a cynical eye on me.

"Hmpf." I had not missed his previous, brief awe-filled look, when he first called my name; I knew it was not common for a woman to have a raven for a pet, a somewhat timid creature, leery of humans, but I needed Hades, and it was fortunate that he was my familiar; such a bond would be advantageous to both of us, I thought. I had always wondered if Dumbledore could converse with Fawkes in such a manner, and perhaps he could. I approached Adele and told her to take the raven away; Hades hopped onto her shoulder and Adele giggled, and spreading her arms, like a bird, ran away graciously, or as graciously and one could with a raven on her shoulder; a queer sight. I laughed a couple of times at such a picture.

"Such a look becomes you, Miss Eyre."

"Thank you, sir."

"Why, no modesty, Miss Eyre? You surprise me."

"Well, sir, you have often told me a smile was becoming on my face, that I should smile or laugh more often, so I have. It is refreshing, I suppose."

"You suppose, Miss Eyre?" he smiled, his eyes alit, "Not sure of your sentiments."

"I am always certain of how I feel, Mr. Rochester," I said, turning to him, "it is just that I often choose not to divulge my feelings, if it is not appropriate."

"So feelings of propriety should come first to, say, pleasure?"

"Yes, sir," there was morality again, "reveling in pleasure for the sake of it, without previous reflection, often brings consequences one does not anticipate, especially when station comes into play."

"Ah!", he seemed to reflect on this for a good time, and we spoke no more of such a subject. I asked him to tell me of Paris, and what sort of monuments, museums and the like there existed, if it did not trouble him, which it didn't, he assured me.

Even at the beginning, I was struggling not to care too much for my employer, it was not proper, considering the century, and I couldn't afford an affair as that. I was a witch, for Merlin's sake, I had stayed in the Muggle world precisely because I needed to create a past for myself, a background, before I vanished into the magical world, in case things didn't go as well as I expected. I was hoping I'd find a good situation there, but what if I couldn't? The cabin in the woods would be a refuge, almost unplottable, now, after almost two months of work. Such was, more or less, the time Mr. Rochester had remained at Thornfield Hall, a first, according to Mrs. Fairfax. I wondered at this; what had changed? Was it because of me? It wouldn't do to be presumptuous, true; but the fact is that, before I came here, the Master didn't stay so long. I squashed the feelings of joy and hope that arose. This would not do, perhaps I, too, should leave when the time came. I missed living among magical folk and being able to cast whenever I felt like.

But you must be wondering if I am not forgetting something. Well, the truth is that Hades couldn't get into the second story room Grace Poole occupied, just so I could find out what was about. Nor did I have Extendable Ears to listen in. Until one faithful night, being awake, safe underneath a tent of covers, in my bed, with a ball of light illuminating a book or curse breaking, I thought I heard a noise, and the ward on the door alerted me to someone touching it, but not opening it. I silenced the bed, the door and also my feet, already in slippers, and jumped off it, into the corridor, in but seconds. I smelled smoke, and to the right, a person with wild hair walked away, like a ghost, not turning; I hit them with a sleeping spell, cushioning their fall with a charm, and summoned them to me. It appeared, by the light of the candle left by my door, to be a woman, a strange, mad looking woman; but there was no time to loose, I walked towards what was Mr. Rochester's rooms, and with a flick of my hand I extinguished the fire that was eating away the bed's curtains. I frowned, pausing for a moment; a diagnostic charm told me Mr. Rochester was well, I had arrived just on time. I looked at his basin, and his water jug, flicked my hand a couple of times more. No one else was awake or lurking nearby besides us three. I cast another sleeping spell, this time on Mr. Rochester, transfigured my comfortable sleepwear into something more befitting of this century, disillusioned and cast a notice-me-not charm on myself, for good measure, closed the door behind me, and went to look at the woman. An eyebrow rose in my face, I levitated her, more or less, towards the point where she once was and revived her, some distance away. She returned to the cursed room I was so curious about, but left the door ajar, Grace Poole was fast asleep and continued like that. I hadn't come in, and I'm glad I didn't. I summoned a pair of hand mirrors I had created, very much like the ones Harry and Sirius had shared, and, now entering the room, placed one in a strategic position, masking it with silent spells, for the queer creature who had tried to kill Mr. Rochester was turned away, cackling to herself with glee. I never turned my back on her; magic helped me become nearly invisible, but that didn't mean you could drop your shields. I retreated quietly and, having grabbed my water jug from my room, returned to Mr. Rochester's, made myself visible and noticeable, and then I wet the half-burnt curtains for good measure, and, as shaking him didn't work, I doused him with some, from his room's.

Well, naturally he was not happy, but after explaining, he said he would discover what the deuce had happened. Obviously, I didn't tell him about the mad woman no one had informed me of; if no-one told me of such secret, then a secret it would remain, for now. I was told to stay where I was, and I remained silent, activating the mirror; as I suspected, Mr. Rochester went to visit _her_. Grace Poole was woken and, being told what had happened, became worried. The mad woman tried to attack Mr. Rochester, making all sort of animalistic sounds, murder on her eyes; he and Grace Poole subdued her and tied her up, leaving her on the bed.

Though not the best care in the world, as medication as I knew it didn't yet exist, I felt sorry for her, in a way. Still, I rationalized, once I was, again in my bed, she was better off in the Hall than in some rotting asylum, or in Bedlam. I shuddered.

Once Mr. Rochester came back, all was explained, to his fashion, Grace was to be blamed, he would deal with it all. The lies hurt me somewhat; I didn't expect him to keep lying, hiding her, and I intended to find out who she was; a sister, cousin, mistress, wife, acquaintance? She had to be related to him, in some fashion. Oh, but he was so grateful for what I had done, he called me his cherished preserver with fire in his eyes, and had I not invented some excuse that I heard movement outside, I don't think his burning hand would have released mine.

The next day, I found out Mr. Rochester had left to Mr. Eshton's place, where he would remain for perhaps a few weeks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

I was happy and miserable at the same time. Miserable because, it was pointless to lie at myself, I don't know how, but I had fallen in love with Edward Rochester. I was, in his eyes, a mere governess, despite him being nice to me. Men are such fickle creatures, though, as are women. I had already anticipated that, the same way he had come to enjoy spending time with me, the same would happen with Blanche Ingram. I sighed. It was possible they would marry, but at the same time… there was the other. Bertha was her name, as I had discovered via mirror, but little more than that, as I was occupied during the day. I bolted my door every night, though, and even if I forgot, my bed had repelling charms on it, keyed to any of her acts. I wouldn't ward the door, fearing she might feel it as a challenge and end up hurting herself; it might bring me more troubles than it was worth.

My happiness was easily explained; I had had won the wizarding lottery! It was the same amount Triwizard champions currently won, a fabulous sum indeed. I had recently noticed the Apothecary in Diagon Alley was thinking of quitting the business; he no longer had the patience for the business and age was catching up. I bought the establishment and requested that he find a suitable replacement, and that he had no silly notions that Muggleborns can't do it. In time, I'm sure he would find someone, and I would be collecting enough sums to live somewhat comfortably for the rest of my life. I felt I was almost ready to return to the magical world. But what of Edward Rochester?

Weeks later he returned with a group of "fine" people. Blanche Ingram was a female, sillier version of Draco Malfoy in his early, but no doubt beautiful, and spoiled, interested in becoming Lady of Thornfield Hall. It was with at first envy and then a pained heart I, forced to attend, saw and heard them sing a duet, his masculine voice-

I had to go, I couldn't take it anymore, I felt my heart was breaking; I had sustained torture and pain, and wounds, but I couldn't do this anymore. At last, I quietly rose to leave, as the prior conversation took a route I didn't quite agree with: governesses, tutors and their faults. Their duet continued, but almost as soon as I had reached the stairs, walking slowly, fighting my pain, Mr. Rochester appeared and we spoke briefly. He said I looked depressed – seriously?! Then, he had the gall to request that I play the third piece I had performed for him the second time we had been together; I'm sure I looked indignant, but then I cooled my Gryffindor temper and uncharacteristically smirked, openly.

"Jane?", Mr. Rochester seemed worried.

"Very well, I will play, but I warn you, sir," I stared at him, my eyes burning with fire, "that I'll play what I want, for as long as I feel like it." He asked what that meant, I was already at the room's door and entered, eyebrow raised, strutting towards Blanche Ingram and occupying the piano bench like I owned it.

Suffice to say, I repeated the three pieces I had first played to Mr. Rochester, and two or three more, in a different order, finishing with part of the Rachmaninov concerto. I shouldn't have been so vain, but I wanted to spite Miss Ingram and to best her, I admit it. The remarks that had been made, that I had all the faults of my 'class' and that I was too stupid for this or that, stung. It was there that I realized, entirely, that this was not my place, and that my return to the magical world approached. I had the means now and I was independent.

I rose, curtsied regally and left the room, and despite Mr. Rochester's calls, I ignored him and locked myself up in my room.

I debated with myself. Should I wait much longer before I left? Surely Mr. Rochester wouldn't stop me. I scoffed, how was he to stop me? He was not my father, nor my husband, nor… I flinched, I had a burst of accidental magic and the mirror in my vanity cracked. I repaired it.

I sat on my bed. He would most likely marry her, they were of the same class, and besides, if he cared for me, he wouldn't shove Miss Ingram and shower her with attentions all night long, in front of me. Whenever my feelings are involved, I can't hide them, if they are intense, they show plainly on my face. I sigh. Yes, I must leave, but not now, not yet.

A few days passed and a Mr. Richard Mason, from Jamaica, arrived. Mr. Rochester showed him his room and in that very night I woke, and later I found out Mason shouted for Mr. Rochester's help. I was summoned once everyone went back to their chambers and, while Mr. Rochester went to fetch a surgeon, I waited with Mason in a room just outside Bertha's, watching over him. He slipped in and out of consciousness, and while he was out, I would cast weak healing and diagnostic spells on him, making sure he didn't die, but not more. I could not interfere more than that, I thought. He had been bit and stabbed by a woman. _Probably Bertha, _I mused. Carter, the doctor, came and patched him up; I was sent for a shirt and a neck-handkerchief, and later for a vial with some stimulant that Mr. Rochester administrated to Mason. Soon he was off.

We went to the garden, I let him speak and frowned. At last, I had had enough.

"Stop." I asked.

"What is it, Jane?"

"Just stop, sir. I don't want to hear more lies." He paled, hurt and becoming angry for being called a liar. "I am not stupid. I think, if you have any inkling of feeling, of friendship for me, you certainly do not show it. You shouldn't hide _her_ from me. It hurts me that you do. And to top it all off, there is the matter of your bride."

"Jane…"

"No, it's time for you to listen and for me to speak. Everybody has secrets, I'm no different." I came close to him, only inches apart, and lowered my voice, finishing with a furious whisper. "But I don't play an engagement game with Miss Ingram, and hide and seek with the governess, while I hide a mad woman, named Bertha, who has God knows what connection with you, right under their noses, in the last story of my house! How is a woman to trust such a man? Good day, Mr. Rochester."

-.-.-.

It was Mason's fault, he, Edward Fairfax of Rochester knew it! Devil take him, surely it was him who had told his little elf about Bertha! But, wait. He replayed in his mind Jane's choice of words and he smiled. No, it wasn't Mason. If he had told her, she would know what Bertha was to him.

_His hopelessly mad wife._

Confound it; what the deuce was he to do now?!

Luckily, Jane had no place to go, at least in the immediate. That gave him enough time to do some damage control, surely!

Still, how had she known? How had she figured it out?

I stomped towards the stables, thinking about riding Mesrour for some time, to cool off. However, another messenger appeared, dressed as a gentleman's servant. I paused and went into the library, rang for tea and sat to wait. No sooner had tea appeared, Jane was in my presence. She desired a leave of absence for a week or two to visit her Aunt Reed, who was dying, apparently her son had killed himself. A hundred miles away from me. Eventually, I had to concur, and then came the matter of my… engagement. I smiled, my Jane hasn't realized yet that this is only a ruse, that I wish her to come to me, as I have no intention to marry Miss Ingram. She refuses my money and says she has quite a good sum that she has saved, enough to travel to London and back twice. I pause.

We are so suited for each other, can she not see it? Unfortunately, she doesn't promise not to advertise… is the woman mad? Can she not see the danger it is?

"In fact, sir, there is a reason why I do not promise not to advertise. You see, since I am going to Gateshead, if there should arise an opportunity for employment, I do believe I will take it."

I take a deep breath. No, you won't, I vow to myself. I try to convince her, but to no avail, she does not budge an inch in her conviction. Blasted woman!

I am saved by the dinner bell, lest some of my guests still find me, my back against the door, so long saying farewell to my little sorceress, who has enchanted me. Oh, Jane, my little Jane! Come back to me… if only I was certain…

-.-.-.

I sent for a carriage and parted to Gateshead the following morning, but I stopped for an entire afternoon in a town some forty miles off Gateshead and there, loosing myself in the crowd, apparated to London, to my new apartment right above my apothecary. I looked around, all had been done as I asked. I went to Gringotts and asked for a family tree test. I was explained that it would show me not only my ancestry, but also if said ascendents or alike were alive. I discovered I had an uncle, but he was already deceased. He was a Squib but had an account in Gringotts, and had been living in Madeira for the last 5 years of his life. I discovered also that I had three cousins, two female and a male. It was the male name that I fixed more easily, St. John Rivers. None of them had accounts in Gringotts, so they might not be magical. My mother, however, was magical and, like my uncle, had left me the content of her vault.

I thought that I should think about my cousins later, and that I should apparate to Gateshead tomorrow morning.

So I did. There I soon learned my aunt had lied to my uncle Reed and to me. She passed away shortly but I decided to stay a little longer, and I only returned to Thornfield almost a month later.

I travelled on foot from Millcote, and reaching Thornfield, I found Mr. Rochester writing. Apparently he had commissioned the making of a carriage for his darling bride. Pfft.

I am not jealous. At all.

I will not be jealous. He is going to marry, and then what? I will be in London.

Eventually, sometime later, I found him in the garden, in a pleasant evening, the moon was full and the stars shining brightly. He started speaking, some nonsense about a moth, and then, the final blow. He had found me another situation… a family who lived… in Ireland.

"I see. Thank you, sir, but that will not be necessary, you see… I made some inquiries in London, and it appears my Aunt Reed lied to me." he frowned. "I had an Uncle Reed who left me twenty thousand pounds. Since you will marry, and do not wish to be in the way, I bought a small apartment in London, a business and have contacted a solicitor to help me manage my fortune. I am an independent woman, now." He seemed somewhat disturbed. "I understand I shouldn't have taken so much time off, and I shall stay two weeks more, but after that, I shall leave; I now have a business to handle, I'm sure you understand. I only wished…"

"What, Jane?"

"Who is Bertha?" He remained silent, his expression savage. "Come, Mr. Rochester, you can tell me, I vow I shall tell no-one." he answered after two minutes of pause, resigned.

"Bertha Mason is Richard Mason's sister… and my wife."

"What?!"

"You heard me." he continued, telling me the whole, sad story. Tricked into marrying, only to soon find out his wife was mad, and that an annulment was impossible. I pitied him, truly. He intended to drag me to meet her, but I refused. I told him, then, that I had seen her already. He looked at me and a sad, defeated look settled on his face. I embraced him, and having reached my wand and cast a revealing charm that revealed no-one, I whispered I too, had a secret to confess.

"Do you believe in magic, Edward?" and I apparated us away.

"What the deuce is this?", he grabbed his stomach, stumbled against a tree, and heaved.

"Apparating.", I smiled. "The first time is always the worst."

"What?" he looked around. "Where?"

"I asked if you believed in magic." I showed him my wand and levitated a rock, then another, and another, swirled them around and turned them into cute little bunnies. He looked awed and shocked. Clearly, his head couldn't conciliate what he was seeing with his beliefs.

"By Jove!"

"Merlin, actually." He smiled at me.

"Little sorceress."

"Scoundrel. Vulcan.", as he resembled one more than an Apolo. He laughed.

"This is a dream."

"No, it's not. I am a witch, Mr. Rochester." With time, and more demonstrations, he started to take me seriously, and to be certain that he was not imagining things. But, in short, though still shocked, he accepted me. "I am glad, Mr. Rochester. There is still something else I wish to tell you, about myself, but only when you truly and completely accept who, what I am. We shall return to Thornfield now, to its battlements. But first." I tapped my wand over him, disillusioning him and myself, and apparated once more.

He steadied himself and, as there was no-one there, we cautiously descended.


End file.
